This evening, in the Hall
of Kings in the Palace of the Litany, will occur the ceremony of my
betrothal."
"Your betrothal, your Highness?" repeated St. George uncertainly.
"You will be attended by an escort," the prince continued, "and
Balator, the commander of the guard, will receive you in the hall.
May the gods permit the possible."
He swept through the portico before them, and they followed dumbly.
The betrothal of the prince.
St. George heard, and his eager hope went down in foreboding. He
turned, hardly daring to read his own dread in the eyes of Amory.
Amory, as St. George had said, was delicious, especially his drawl;
but there were times--now, for example, when all that the eyes of
Amory expressed was what his lips framed, _sotto-voce_:
"An American heiress, betrothed to the prince of a cannibal island!
Wouldn't Chillingworth turn in his grave at his desk?"
CHAPTER X
TYRIAN PURPLE
The "porch of light" proved to be an especially fascinating place at
evening. Evening, which makes most places resemble their souls
instead of their bodies, had a grateful task in the beautiful room
whose spirit was always uppermost, and Evening moved softly in its
ivory depths, preluding for Sleep.
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